


From the Ashes

by Kalkasar (Mordhena)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28825464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena/pseuds/Kalkasar
Summary: Inspired by episode 5 ofThe Delta Flyers Podcastwhen Garret Wang and Robert Duncan McNeill discussed Non Sequitur. I got to wondering what would happen if rather than either dying, or being translocated to USS Voyager, Non Sequitur's Paris remained in his own timeline.There were two possible answers to that question. The following story explores one of them.
Relationships: Chakotay/Tom Paris, Julian Bashir/Tom Paris
Comments: 38
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zonya35](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zonya35/gifts).



> This story is for Zonya35 who has patiently waited for me to dig myself out of a plot hole with my Paris/Bashir Chakotay/Paris story Expunction. It was whilst digging my way out of said story, that the plot bunny for this one hopped up and bit me. Never one to miss grasping a rogue plot bunny by the ears, I grabbed him and held on. It's looking like becoming something worthwhile, so... here it is.
> 
> The Chakotay/Paris elements of the story are dark, but are mentioned in flashback and or backstory. No nasty stuff 'on screen.' These may be mildly triggering, so be aware and keep yourself safe. <3
> 
> With deepest gratitude to: my beta **Tigerspirit** and to my co-plotter/ sounding board **Haggitha** for helping out with the niggly bits. <3

**Tom**

There’s this corny as hell black and white movie filmed back in 1942 about an American expatriate in French Morocco who’s asked to help an ex-lover and her husband escape from the Germans. _Casablanca_ it’s called – bear with me, there’s a point to my drunken ramblings… where was I? Oh, yeah. Anyway, there’s a line from the picture that goes something like: ‘Of all the gin joints in all the world, she had to walk into mine.’[i]

It didn’t occur to me at the time, how similar what happened that week was to that old movie. That came with hindsight. If you’ve got an hour or two to kill, let me tell you about it.

* * *

The first thing you need to understand is that back then, I was a complete waste of space. My name’s Tom Paris, by the way. Yeah. That Tom Paris. The stand-up guy who falsified sensor logs to avoid the consequences of his mistake, and then joined the Maquis. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

After I got drummed out of Starfleet – which I never wanted to join in the first place – I went to Marseille, France. Two reasons. One, I kind of enjoyed my time there during my academy days, and two, it was far enough away from my father that I never had to associate with him. The arrangement suited us both just fine.

I found _Sandrine’s_ and started hanging out there, hustling pool for booze money. Sometimes I hustled myself for booze money. I’m not proud of it, it’s just how it was.

I didn’t expect to meet anyone who knew me, or at least, no one who’d acknowledge that they knew me. So, when someone came looking for me by name, that was a surprise.

“Paris?” 

I tore my gaze from staring into the glass of whiskey and met a pair of dark brown eyes that regarded me with mingled disgust and pity. I looked him over. Heavy build, those dark eyes, this crazy tattoo on his forehead. 

“Are you Tom Paris?”

“That depends on who’s asking and why.”

“I’m told you’re a pilot.” Those dark eyes raked over me. “A good one…although to look at you, I’d be inclined to doubt it. Can you even see straight enough to walk, much less fly?”

I scoffed. “I can fly just fine. Walk, too if I need to.” I treated him to my own scathing head to toe appraisal. “Maquis,” I stated. “I’m not interested.”

“I haven’t offered you anything, yet.” He slid onto the bar stool next to mine, ordered a drink.

“Yeah, well, whatever it is you’re about to offer? I told you, I’m not interested.”

“You know, where I come from, it’s considered polite to at least hear someone out before you dismiss them.”

“Fine. Talk. If you buy me a drink, I might even listen.”

“I think you’ve had more than enough to drink. You’ll listen.”

I narrowed my eyes and turned to him. “Really?” I stood up, and he knocked me back on my ass before I could take a step towards the door. “Hey!”

And that’s how I met Captain Chakotay.

Our… friendship was tempestuous, and mercifully short lived. Yeah, I took him up on his offer to pilot his ship. It was the Badlands! What pilot worth a single strip of Latinum wouldn’t want to fly that sector? It’s treacherous, but that’s the point. I love a challenge, and it felt like a way to put right my past.

In hindsight it was stupid. It landed me in a bigger pot of trouble than I needed. With my prior ‘form,’ Starfleet decided to make an example of me. Eighteen months detention in New Zealand’s Federation penal settlement. Yeah. Welcome to the highly enlightened twenty-fourth century, where we still dump our miscreants on the antipodean nations.

I was about halfway through my sentence when another captain showed up looking for me by reputation. Only this time, she wasn't looking for my piloting skills. She wanted a traitor.

That’s not one of my finest moments, either. I took her up on the offer. It was an out. If there’s one thing I can’t tolerate it’s being confined. I’m a pilot, I have a rebellious streak as wide as the Mississippi, and being locked up, even in minimum security, which amounted to an ankle monitor and a fair amount of freedom, repairing small vessels – immobilized to prevent theft – it was still a cage. It still functioned like a prison, with all the goings on that you see in movies and think are just tropes. I hated it.

Her magic words, the honey to sweeten the pot. “If you help us find Chakotay, I’ll put in a good word for you at your next out meet review.”

Early parole. And all I had to do was sell out a man who tried to give me a second chance.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Yeah, I know, I’m rambling, and you probably know all this anyway. Long story short, I never actually got aboard USS _Voyager._ I got into a brawl on Deep Space Nine. Don’t ask why, it wasn’t that important. Let’s just say I don’t like Ferengi and leave it at that.

I used to think Admiral Paris had disappointment down to a fine art, but he’s got nothing on Janeway. The only difference being, when _she_ turned those baby-blues full of disillusionment on me… it meant something.”

So, I was sent back to New Zealand, and _Voyager_ left the space dock without me and vanished without a trace. Lucky me, right? I dodged a bullet. That’s what people say. Yet I can’t help wondering, if I’d been aboard, could I have done something to prevent her disappearance?

The rehab officers told me it was pointless to indulge in ‘might-have-beens.’ They were right, but that didn’t stop the thought.

When I got out, I got permission to return to France and tried to put Chakotay, the Maquis, _Voyager_ and Starfleet firmly behind me.

Then, _he_ walked into _Sandrine’s._ Ensign Harry Kim.

“Tom,” he said. He looked at me with such an expectant expression that I felt… I dunno what I felt.

“Who the hell are you?”

“You don’t know me, do you?”

I didn’t, but why should that matter? I shrugged. Tossed out a guess that we were at the academy together. He shook his head.

“No.”

“Well, then it must have been the _Exeter._ We served on the _Exeter_ together.

“Try _Voyager.”_

“I never set foot on that ship _._ Can’t say I’m sorry, considering what happened.”

The kid wouldn’t back off. He kept pressing. Winkling my story out piece by piece. Making me revisit the biggest disappointment of my life. I looked him in the eyes, silently willing him to fuck off. He didn’t get the message.

He told me that something had happened. That he was from a different timeline. One in which I had boarded _Voyager_ and led them on a mission into the Badlands.

“What is it you want?” I knew what I wanted. I wanted this kid to go back wherever he’d come from and I wanted a drink.

He asked… no, he demanded that I go to Starfleet Headquarters with him and run some simulation to work out what happened that pulled him into this timeline.

That was when I decided he was either a bald-faced liar, or someone put him up to this hairbrained scheme or… he was completely nuts.

The thing that really annoyed me though, was that he _almost_ had me convinced I was everything he said I was. I’d been on the brink of buying his story. Now, I was really pissed off. I told him he was wasting his time. There was no way I’d set foot in Starfleet Headquarters, so he could just go back and tell whoever sent him that I wasn’t interested in playing their games.

He left, after a few parting shots. Most of them bounced off, but there was one little barb in his arsenal that hit its mark and stung like a bitch.

He called me a loser and a drunk. He said that’s probably all I’d ever be.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
[i] “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.” Rick Blaine, _Casablanca_ , 1942.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom decides to help Harry and in so doing, finds an opportunity for a fresh start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is still dealing with the events of the _Voyager_ episode Non Sequitur, but I felt it was important to recap before getting into the meat of the story, since these events were the catalyst for what comes after.
> 
> Bear with me. :) <3

**Tom**

_ “I see a drunk and a loser. That’s probably all you’ll ever be.” _

Why the hell did I have to be cursed with an eidetic memory? I have this annoying knack for recalling word for word, everything that was ever said to me. Especially the words that really strike home. Maybe it’s not eidetic. Maybe I just have a talent for self-loathing.

Whatever it is, I couldn’t get Ensign Kim’s dewy-eyed hero worship – or the fading light of that when I told him I wouldn’t help – out of my head.

I decided to look the kid up. I might not be in Starfleet anymore, but I have connections and I know a thing or two about hacking. My father, for all his Starfleet brass royalty, is lousy at choosing access codes.

It turned out this Kim – at least as he existed in this timeline – was something of a physics whiz-kid. Thanks to dear old Dad, I got a good look at the schematics for a runabout Kim had co-designed with Lieutenant Lasca. Tetryon plasma warp nacelles, streamlined, elegant.

“What I wouldn’t give to fly that baby.” If they had managed to compensate for the dilithium fracture issues. Tetryon plasma tends to distort subspace. I clicked out of that screen to Kim’s profile.

Put Harry Kim’s record alongside mine, and you’d be forgiven for thinking you’re comparing angels and demons. Exemplary academic record, Harry graduated with honors.

I slouched my way through Academy, achieving good marks in the subjects that interested me, and scraping through on the rest.

Since leaving the academy, and being rejected for a post on  _ Voyager,  _ Kim applied himself in the field of engineering. He’d won the Cochrane Medal of Excellence for advances in warp theory.

Immediately after graduation, I took a posting to the  _ USS Exeter _ and had killed three crewmates within my first year.

Harry wasn’t all squeaky clean. There was one citation on his record for drunkenness. I scoffed.

Then, I saw it. Near the bottom of the page. The Starfleet security flag.

“House arrest pending disciplinary hearing.”

Charge: Level 3 security breach.

“So, Harry Kim. You’re a hacker too?”

A beep from my personal console told me I’d been in the database long enough. I shut it down and got up to pour myself a drink. As the bourbon seared its way down my throat. I narrowed my eyes. Something didn’t add up. If Starfleet wanted to get me to headquarters, they’d send a security detail to bring me in. I made no secret of my whereabouts. So, if they wanted to be clandestine about it, why send a clean skin like Kim to lure me back? He and I had nothing in common. And that cockamamie story he told about me being his best friend? The dashing young ne’er-do-well who came to his rescue in Quarks and turned out to be assigned – to put it loosely – to the same ship. I took another gulp of liquor. I’d never been anyone’s hero. Hell, I’d barely ever been anyone’s friend.

Maybe it was time to change that.

It always kind of amused me, that the ‘authorities’ deny all kinds of things to former convicts, but those things are never difficult to get when you have former convicts for friends. I packed the essentials. A hip flask and a point to point transporter and headed for San Francisco. As much as I told myself I’d never go near Starfleet Headquarters, here I was, doing just that. All for a kid I’d barely met who managed to get under my skin with one crazy story and a parting jibe that just wouldn’t let me be.

I arrived, in true heroic form, in the nick of time. Harry was struggling with a security egghead who had him pinned down, ready to arrest him for trying to escape home detention.

I guess that what they’ve written on my prison records must be true in some sense. ‘Incorrigible recidivist.’ I don’t see myself as an incurable law breaker. At least not in the way Starfleet does.

Yeah, I break the rules. Yeah, I did and still do sympathize with the Maquis. But most times when I break the rules it’s not out of self-interest. Oh, don’t get me wrong. Caldik prime was undeniably self-centered.  _ That _ was wrong. I had my reasons. I was young, I was still terrified of Admiral Paris. No excuse. I screwed up on that one.

The Maquis are fighting an unfair and arbitrary ruling that threatened their homes. Just because Starfleet calls them rebels, doesn’t make their cause any less worthy.

That Ferengi on Deep Space Nine was trying to rip people off. So, I set him straight.

As for Harry Kim? Well, he just wanted to go home. Starfleet rejected his story out of hand. Dismissed his claims of temporal anomalies and treated him like a criminal. I wasn’t going to stand by and let that happen.

We broke into the space dock and stole the  _ Yellowstone _ right out from under Starfleet’s noses.

I don’t know if Harry’s story was true. I don’t know if he made it back to  _ Voyager.  _ I hope he did. I hope he found that alternate Tom Paris back there waiting for him. I hope I was a better man in that reality than I am in this one.

He probably thinks I died to get him home. Where’s the fun in that? I still had my site to site transporter. With seconds to spare I pressed the button for the preset coordinates and got out with my ass on fire. Not literally. It was close though. There was a certain aroma of burning plasma about me for a few days.

I read the news feeds about the  _ Yellowstone _ incident. Thomas Paris and Harry Kim were described as criminals. Both were presumed killed when the  _ USS Ulysses _ destroyed the runabout. That’s a shame. About the  _ Yellowstone,  _ I mean _. _ It was a fine ship, with a lot of promise.

As for Thomas Paris being dead? I liked that idea. It was a blank page. A fresh start.

I just needed to look up an old friend.

Nyrim Jakin, a Bajoran I met briefly in the penal settlement. He was facing charges of surprise, surprise, Maquis sympathies. Starfleet had a run on that for a while during the height of the rebellion. Anyway, this kid was in the same cell block I was. We were assigned to the same work details. The kid was not too bad at mechanics.

There was something else he was good at, but there wasn’t much of a market for it inside. Now that I was ‘dead,’ though, his area of expertise was exactly what I needed.

He was a forger. He could dummy up any kind of identification or service record you needed. For a nominal price, he could give me a new name and a new history.

I went into his little dingy room, a dead man with no future and walked out with a new name and a spark of hope for the first time in years.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All in all, things were going well ... That should have been Tom's first clue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we move on into the story proper. Buckle up, this could get rough.

**Tom**

“I run a clean operation here, Mister Del Mar,” Captain Eseb Retts eyed me from the other side of a grimy desk in a grimier office. I didn’t believe him for one minute. I’ve got an intuitive acuity for spotting a crook. Be they Ferengi, Human, or as in this case, Bolian. I can’t explain exactly how I know. I just know. I met the captain’s eyes.

“Believe me, I’m not looking for trouble,” I said. If only he knew just how true that was. I can’t afford trouble. Nerym is a good forger, and I made some changes to my appearance. Good enough to fool most civilian computer systems, but the minute I get within range of anything more advanced…a Starfleet transporter, for example. I’m screwed.

That’s why I left Earth and came out here to the colonies.

“I’m a pilot, Captain. The best. I’m out here to fly.”

He looked me over for a long, silent pause. Then he glanced at the data chip I’d handed him with my ‘credentials.’ He was silent for so long that I thought he was going to reject my application. Then, he laid the data chip on his desk and met my eyes.

“I’ll assign you to the Freighter Phoenix. Three weeks probationary service.

Probation. There was a word I’d hoped never to hear again. I nodded. “You won’t regret it.”

“I hope you’re right,” Retts said. He stood up and I got to my feet. “The ship departs at 0500 tomorrow. You can see my secretary for directions to the berth and to set up your purser’s account.”

Just like that, I had my wings again.

The ICS _Phoenix_ was a far cry from the kind of vessels I was used to piloting in Starfleet. Freighters don't need high warp. They carry the bare minimum in terms of weapons. I _think_ _Phoenix_ had a phaser cannon, but I couldn't say for sure. Weapons weren't my department, and if there's anything freighter crews are obsessed about it's that everyone has a role and he plays it. _His_ role, and no-one else's!

Where a Starfleet vessel answers the helm like a thoroughbred racehorse feels the reins, these old freight carriers are more like half-starved pack mules with attitude problems. It took all my considerable piloting skills just to get her across the Ceres asteroid belt on our first outing.

Still, it was flying. That was all that mattered to me then. Oh, and the regular paycheck was nice. How strange, after years of dependency on Starfleet and then being left to fend for myself after my fall from grace, to be in control of my own financial affairs.

I finished my first shift at the helm with a splitting headache and a craving for the rich bourbon Sandrine stocked at her bistro. I did my best to ignore it. I didn’t want to gain a reputation as a drinker before anyone even knew my name. I headed for the mess hall hoping a strong cup of coffee and a bite to eat would appease the demon.

A few of the early shift crew were gathered in the mess drinking coffee or eating, one or two glanced at me as I entered, but no one spoke. I replicated coffee and a bowl of tomato soup, added a bread roll and butter from a basket beside the replicator and looked for a table.

I noticed a guy sitting by himself at a small table and walked over. “Mind if I join you?”

He looked up, flashed a grin and waved me to sit. “You’re the new pilot,” he said.

I nodded, and sipped my coffee, glancing around the room. People went on with their business and ignored me. Tom Paris would have come with a history. There would have been glances, whispers. I would’ve seen shadows of my past in their eyes… at least that’s how it would be on a Starfleet vessel. I don’t know how much news from ‘fleet travels to the civilian shipping lanes. As Gene Del Mar, I attracted barely a flicker of interest. It was refreshing.

“How’d you find the old girl?”

I looked at the guy across the table. “Old. And cantankerous.”

He laughed. “Yeah. She has her moods, for sure. I’m Bellamy. First name’s Matthew, but nobody uses it.”

“Gene Del Mar,” I replied. “I’ll answer to my first or surname.”

“Been flying long?”

“Long enough,” I smiled to soften the short answer. “I caught the fever when I was eight. At sixteen I stole my father’s shuttle for a joyride – and crash landed it.”

“Can’t be a good pilot if you don’t know how to ditch ‘em,” Bellamy said. “I fly this crate on the night shift, by the way.”

"Pleased to meet you." I took a mouthful of soup.

Bellamy stood up. "I'm really sorry to cut and run," he said. "I only came to get a snack. I should be sleeping."

"No, don't let me hold you up. I…" 

A klaxon cut across my words and everyone in the room was suddenly tense. 

"Crap," Bellamy muttered.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Probably means Dominion ships have been sighted," he said. "It shouldn't make much difference to us, but we tend to avoid them if we can."

A voice came over the comms. "All hands, this is the bridge. We've altered course due to Dominion activity on our usual route. We hope to get back on course soon and will keep you apprised."

"Do they sound the alarm every time there's a change of heading?" 

"It depends on who's shift leader," Bellamy said. Wait'll you get your first alarm during the night."

"I can’t wait." I grimaced, and Bellamy left the mess chuckling.

\--

I'd been working on  _ ICS Phoenix _ for just over a month. The work was routine, often boring. The only excitement came when sensors detected Dominion ships and we'd adjust our heading to avoid them. My cravings for booze were growing less frequent. I often wondered if Harry Kim would be surprised at the change in me. After all, I owed it mostly to his parting comment on our first encounter. I wondered, too, if he would get back to the Alpha Quadrant in his own time. I had no way of ever finding out, but I figured with me as their pilot, Harry's  _ Voyager _ had the best shot at it.

In my off time, I followed news about 'my'  _ Voyager. _ There wasn't much of it in those early years. The news feeds would run 'spec' articles about her disappearance with this or that expert making guesses at what could have happened. Despite Harry Kim's appearance in our timeline, nothing was ever even whispered about the Delta Quadrant. It seemed Starfleet had decided to bury that information. 

Sometimes, I was sorely tempted to reveal what I knew. Of course, that was an impossible dream. If I told what I knew, I'd also reveal my identity, and that was something  _ I _ needed to keep buried.

I worked my shifts, piloted the ‘Old Girl’ as Bellamy called her, and kept mostly to myself. Bellamy became a friend, I suppose. I mean that in the sense that when we happened to be rostered off at the same time, we’d share a meal or a couple of drinks. Once or twice, on shore leave we got into the kinds of scrapes merchant crewmen get into, but I was eager to keep my nose clean and stay off law enforcement databases.

Bellamy asked me about that, one time.

“I noticed you keep a low profile, Del Mar.” He eyed me from his barstool at some dive we found on a Gamma Quadrant planet just the other side of the Bajoran wormhole. “You got form?”

I barely concealed a start of surprise and shot him a sidelong glance.

“Makes no difference to me or anyone on the  _ Phoenix _ if you do. Plenty of Merchantmen have skeletons in their lockers.”

I let out a breath. “I don’t like to talk about it,” I said.

Bellamy nodded. “I just had a feeling.” He waved to a waitress and ordered another round of drinks. “You don’t need to tell me your life story. I did time.” He met my gaze with a look that only former inmates can share or understand.

I nodded. “Yeah. New Zealand.” That was all I cared to venture.

“Small time, then,” he chuckled. “Me? I was on Elba II.”

I looked him over with a new respect and let out a low whistle.

“Isn’t the NZ colony Starfleet?”

I licked suddenly dry lips and bit back a curse. I needed to stay off the drink. It was apt to loosen my tongue far too much.

Bellamy raised both hands in a gesture of appeasement. “Hey. I didn’t mean to pry. I learned Prison etiquette just fine on E2. I won’t ask, you don’t need to tell…and this goes no further than us.”

“Appreciate that.” I stood up. “I think I’ll head back to the ship and turn in.”

Bellamy nodded. “Yeah, time we called it a night.”

\--

All in all, things were going well for Gene Del Mar. That should have been my first clue. I should have remembered that the universe or some higher power or whatever had decreed that I don’t get any breaks.

The night the klaxon woke me from a dreamless sleep, was my last aboard ICS  _ Phoenix. _

The klaxon went off and I bolted up in bed, momentarily disoriented, thinking I was back in the Penal settlement on Earth. A shuddering impact rocked the ship and dispelled the last vestiges of sleep. I scrambled out of bed and into my clothes, running for the door and tapping the badge on my chest simultaneously. “Del Mar to the bridge, what’s going on?”

No-one responded. I headed for the nearest lift and directed it to the bridge. If we were under attack, I might be needed up there.

The lift had only travelled one or two decks when there was a heavier impact. The deck bucked, throwing me off my feet, the lights went out and another klaxon blared. I tried to get up, but everything shook and shuddered in a way that made standing impossible. We were under what felt like a barrage of torpedo fire.

Cargo ships are not built to withstand sustained attacks. We were in big trouble. I had to get to the bridge.

Using what handholds I could find in the pitch darkness, I pulled myself to my feet. The lift controls were out of commission, so I groped for the hatch above my head. I’d have to climb up the shaft to an access tunnel and try to make it to the bridge that way.

Pushing the hatch open, I pulled myself out into the shaft. Something lit the darkness with a brilliant blue flare. I felt a moment of searing pain and then everything went black.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian Bashir is called on to attend to a critically injured civilian pilot, but something doesn't add up.

**Julian**

_Ops to Doctor Bashir._

Miles O’Brien’s voice roused me from a sound slumber, and I rolled over, groaning as I fought my way through the fog of sleep. Groping on the bedside table I found and pressed the comm badge lying there.

“Bashir... what is it, Chief?”

“We’ve got incoming wounded from a skirmish near the wormhole,” Miles replied. “One critical.”

My mind was instantly clear and alert as I sat up, reaching for clothes. “I’m on my way to the infirmary.” I said, dressing as I walked. “You’d better rouse the day staff.”

“On it. O’Brien out.”

The wounded were beginning to arrive as I finished scrubbing and walked into the infirmary. They came with a catalogue of injuries ranging from burns and contusions to broken limbs and internal organ damage. My staff had already established a triage system so that the most severely injured were first in line. The 'one critical' that Miles had mentioned when he commed me was my main concern.

The emergency transfer report identified him as Gene Del Mar, a civilian pilot from the ICS _Phoenix_ , 27 years old, human. I frowned. How had a civilian cargo freighter gotten caught up in fighting between Federation and Dominion forces?

I frowned and set the report aside, focusing my attention on assessing his condition. 

I ran a medical tricorder over the man and shook my head at the readings. He had a fractured skull and swelling on the brain. He was nearer to death than life, his pulse was rapid and faint. He barely breathed. 

"I need a surgical assistant, please."

A nurse was at my side before I finished the sentence. I glanced at him. "Administer 20cc of Alkysine and set up plasma infusion and cardio-pulmonary support."

I glanced around, catching the eye of a passing medical attendant. "Prep the ICU. I want to move this patient there as soon as he's stabilised."

"Yes, Doctor."

With those tasks taken care of, I applied a neural caliper and set to work repairing the damage. There was an intracranial hemorrhage, which I worked to repair, using a sonic emitter. I watched the biomedical feedback on a screen over the bed, satisfied to note the fall in pressure within my patient’s skull.

The procedure took almost two hours, but at the end of it, I felt confident that Mister Del Mar would survive. I stepped back from the biobed and rolled my shoulders to ease the tension. The urgent bustle of the infirmary had quieted to a low hum of activity. Most of the injured had been treated and either released or placed in observation beds. I let out a breath. “Let’s get him to the ICU.”

The nurse untethered the biobed and activated the anti-grav system. I followed as the bed was moved to intensive care. Once there, I sent the nurse on a well-earned break and started the admission process myself.

Calling up the intake form, I entered the information from the patient transfer report and pressed save. The screen lit red and an error code sounded. I frowned, rechecked the transfer form. “It’s correct,” I murmured. “Computer, save the intake record as entered.”

_Unable to comply._

“For what reason?”

_There is a conflict between information provided and previous records._

“Display.”

With a beep, the computer scrolled the record onto the screen. Reading it, I shook my head. “That’s not possible… Computer, run a level 1 self-diagnostic on patient data systems.”

_Patient data systems are operational._

“Forgive me if I seek a second opinion.” I tapped my comm-badge. “Bashir to O’Brien.”

“Go ahead, Doctor.”

“Would you please run a full diagnostic on the Infirmary patient data system? I seem to be encountering a glitch.”

“Right away. I’ll get back with the results.”

I thanked the chief and switched to another screen, entering a temporary record for my patient. That done, I went on a round of the infirmary to check on our other new arrivals.

**\---**

**Tom**

The first thing I became aware of was sound. The low hum of conversation, an intermittent beeping. The various chirps and whirs of a computer system. Next was the unmistakable clinical smell of a hospital room. I wrinkled my nose and forced my eyes open. A wave of dizziness assailed me, and I quickly closed them. Taking a few deep, measured breaths I waited until the spinning eased and tried again.

The dizziness was still there, but manageable. I stared up at a ceiling of lighted panels arranged in a circular pattern. Grey walls surrounded my bed, which was the only one in the room. I turned my head, gulping back a rush of nausea. This wasn’t the infirmary aboard _Phoenix._ There's no space for private medical areas on a cargo ship.

A star base, then. But where? And who owned it? A part of me knew the answer to that, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it. We’d been near the Bajoran wormhole. On the Gamma Quadrant end, granted, but that still made the nearest base equipped with this kind of facility, one I didn’t want to be on.

My worst fears were realised a couple of minutes later as footfalls approached my private room and a man dressed in the teal uniform of Starfleet medical came through the doorway.

“Mister, Del Mar,” he said. He spoke with a slight accent. He had dark hair and eyes. The pips on his collar indicated his rank as Lieutenant. “I’m Doctor Julian Bashir. You’re on Deep Space Nine. You were injured when your vessel became caught in crossfire between Dominion and Starfleet forces.”

“How long have I been here?” My voice sounded rusty. I cleared my throat. “The _Phoenix…”_

“Will survive to fly again,” Bashir said. “He picked up a medical scanner and waved it over my head. “Do you recall anything from the day you were injured, Mister Del Mar?”

I frowned at his tacit sidestep of my question. “A day? A month? You can call me Gene.”

Bashir set the scanner aside and met my eyes. “You’ve been here a week,” he said.

More than long enough for him to know who I really am. Yet, he called me ‘Mister Del Mar.’ I studied him in silence.

Bashir smiled. “Can you recall anything about how you got injured?”

“I was… trying to get to the bridge. I had to climb up the elevator shaft because the lifts were out of commission. There was a flash…that’s all I remember.”

“Excellent.” He took hold of one of my hands. “Squeeze my hand.”

Bashir spent the next few minutes testing my vision, reflexes and muscle tone and cognitive responses. I kept looking towards the door, waiting for the security detail, or that nasty shape shifter to come and arrest me.

“You’ve made very good progress,” Bashir said once he was done examining me. He looked into my eyes. “No one’s going to disturb you. For one thing, no-one apart from you and myself knows. Even if they did, I wouldn’t permit your removal from the infirmary.”

“Yet.” I held his gaze a moment longer and then looked away. I needed to get out of there, but the fact was I didn’t think I could walk more than a few meters. Not far enough to reach the promenade, much less the docking ring. Even if I _could_ get that far, what then? Compound my already i _mpeccable_ record by stealing another ship? I closed my eyes. “Why don’t you save us all some grief and tell your security chief that you’ve got Starfleet’s most wanted in your infirmary?”

“Gene.” Bashir put a hand on my shoulder. “What you need right now, is rest and recuperation. You suffered a major brain trauma which took a lot of delicate work to repair. I’d be going against my oath as a doctor and my own better judgement to expose you to the kind of stress you’d face should others become aware of your identity.”

I turned to look at him and winced at another wave of vertigo and accompanying nausea.

He met my gaze, his expression earnest. “You’re going to have to trust me,” he said. “I won’t betray that trust. When you’re stronger we will talk about this in more depth and a more private location.”

As he pressed the hypospray to my skin, I gripped his wrist. “Is it Melorazine?”

The doctor frowned. “No. Improvaline.”

Nodding my assent, I closed my eyes at the cool hiss of the spray against my neck. Welcome darkness enveloped me.

**\---**

**Julian**

So, the computer systems were proven correct after all. Miles had confirmed days ago that the diagnostic of the infirmary data systems was clear. I suppose a part of me had known that would be the case. Gene Del Mar was Thomas Eugene Paris. Erstwhile Starfleet officer convicted Maquis sympathiser, brawler; drug addict – if some of the notes on his files could be believed. Presumed killed when he and young engineering prodigy, Ensign Harry Kim attempted to steal a prototype runabout from Starfleet headquarters.

It was blaringly obvious why he would change his name, and evidently make some effort to alter his appearance. Whereas his old Starfleet records showed a clean-cut, blond, blue eyed son of ‘Fleet royalty – an admiral no less – from a distinguished line of Federation brass; my patient had brown eyes, dark hair and wore a neatly trimmed beard and moustache.

The dilemma for me, was what to do with the knowledge. Gene – Tom – fully expected me to turn him in. I knew that was the ‘right’ action to take, and yet…

I had secrets of my own. Granted, they might not land me in quite as much trouble as Tom’s would cause him; but they _did_ give me a unique perspective on his situation.

I’ve long prided myself on my ability to keep an open mind. I needed to know more before I decided. Sometimes, when facing a choice between two directions, the best action one can take is to stay put.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is afoot! Julian and Garak plan a little... (mis?) adventure.

__ **_Personal Log Doctor Julian Bashir recorded Stardate 49435_ **

_As it happens, the decision on what to do about my mysterious patient was taken out of my hands. He discharged himself from the infirmary against medical advice overnight. A fact I didn’t discover until this morning's alpha shift handover. By then, he was long gone._

_Who can blame him? He has ample experience with Starfleet behind him, and none of it calculated to inspire trust._

_I've resolved to keep his secret and get on with business as usual._

_End log and encrypt.  
  
 **Personal encryption code applied. Access restricted.**  
_

* * *

**Julian**

Tom or Gene, or whatever he called himself continued to haunt me. He’d left Deep Space Nine almost two months ago, and still, he occupied my thoughts to distraction. A fact that Miles, Jadzia, Nerys _and_ Worf had all commented on. I needed to get a grip before the captain got on my case about it.

How could I find him? Why did I need to? What was it about the enigmatic stranger that had gotten so deep under my skin? Perhaps, it was the sense of waste. An admiral’s son; a man of potential if his academy records were anything to judge by.

He’d made some mistakes. The first, a fatal one. Yes, the cover-up after the fact was unwise, but he’d confessed and taken his punishment for that. Then joining the Maquis. Well, I could see a case for that. Someone who'd been dependent on Starfleet all of his life suddenly cut loose with nothing to fall back on. He needed to eat. A Maquis cell may not pay much, but they'd provide food, shelter, employment. He was their pilot. 

Was he really expected to fade into obscurity and never be heard from again? 

As to the incident with Harry Kim and the _Yellowstone,_ I had a feeling there was much between the lines that no-one was telling. 

I can’t explain why, but I simply felt Tom deserved another chance.

With the war between the Dominion and Starfleet escalating, good pilots – and he must be good, since Captain Janeway had wanted him to guide her through the badlands in pursuit of Captain Chakotay – were becoming more valuable. Perhaps I could convince Captain Sisko to vouch for him. That would mean finding him first. Fortunately for me, I happen to have access to a former spy.

\---

**Tom**

There’s not a lot to do as a floorman at _Chez Sandrine._ The bistro attracts a laidback clientele. When I was drummed out of the Academy, I needed a place to land. I was adrift, broke, hungry with no real idea of how to survive without the underpinning arms of Starfleet, or the reluctant monthly allowance from my father. Of course, _that_ ended with my public disgrace. I was no longer worthy of the name Paris. Too bad for him, I decided to keep it anyway. I think Sandrine took me in and gave me a job out of kindness as much as any real need for security. Whatever her reasons, I’m grateful.She extended that kindness again when I returned from my short-lived new life as Gene Del Mar.

Ah, Marseilles. How I had missed the city. I didn’t bother trying to hide who I was when I returned. I suppose a part of me always knew it was only a matter of time before someone found me. Optimism’s never been one of my strong points. 

The fact is, Julian Bashir, for all his noble sentiments had the smell of Starfleet all over him. Despite his reassurances that I could trust him, I didn’t. Trust, in general has never really gotten me far. I certainly wasn’t ready to put my faith in Starfleet. 

So, back at _Chez Sandrine_ , I went back to hustling; be it pool or myself for extra booze money and settled right back into the funk I was in when Ensign Harry Kim tried to drag me kicking and screaming back to life. I figured it would suffice until Starfleet goons turned up to arrest me. I fully expected that that's what would happen.

I was wrong.

\--- 

**Julian**

Tom had been gone almost six months with no word from Garak’s contacts regarding his whereabouts. One morning after the staff briefing, I was heading for the infirmary when Captain Sisko called my name.

“A word, if you please, Doctor?”

Puzzled, I followed the captain into his office.

“Would you mind explaining why you’ve recently had occasion to access the personnel files of a known criminal?

I raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”

“Constable Odo flagged this to my attention,” Sisko said. “In the past months, you have accessed the file of Thomas Eugene Paris on several occasions.”

“Yes.” I smiled, offering nothing more.

Sisko eyed me across his desk for a long moment without speaking.

“Is there a regulation against accessing personnel files?” I met his gaze without flinching. “It’s within my security clearance as Chief Medical Officer.”

“No. No regulation. I’m merely curious. Why do you need to access the files of someone who was not only a traitor, but a thief and a liar who died a year ago in the commission of further crimes against Starfleet?”

I shrugged. “Idle curiosity. I discovered the story of the theft of the _Yellowstone,_ and I wanted to know more about it.”

Sisko looked down at a padd on his desk then met my eyes. “I don’t know what is going on with you, Doctor. What I do know is that others have mentioned your distraction in their reports. Now, Odo brings this to my attention. Whatever it is, I suggest that you curtail your ‘curiosity’ and focus on your work.”

We stared at each other across his desk for a long moment.

“Will that be all, sir?”

He huffed a breath waving me out of his office. “Dismissed.”

I left Sisko’s office quietly fuming at his cavalier manner. Curtail my curiosity, indeed. I was more than a little annoyed with Constable Odo. As far as either of them knew Tom Paris was dead, so what harm could there be in looking at his files in the first place, and in the second place why couldn’t Odo have come to me instead of going over my head to the captain? 

I brooded over the meeting until lunch time and was still mulling it over when Elim Garak joined me in the Replimat. The tailor looked me over and shook his head, frowning. “Doctor, you look like a man who lost ten strips of latinum and found one.”

I met his eyes with an apologetic smile. “I’ve had a rough morning.”

“Well then, perhaps I can contribute to you having a better afternoon.” He smiled and leaned closer. “I have good news.”

“I could certainly use some.”

“My connections have located that… item you were looking for.”

“Really?” I smiled at him. “That is good news.” My delight was short-lived, as I realized that given Captain Sisko’s ‘suggestion’ that morning, the likelihood of getting leave was low. I sighed.

“What is it?” Garak frowned at me over his mug of tea.

“I’m grateful for your assistance,” I said. “But I doubt it will make much difference. I’m not in a position right now to…collect the item.”

Garak sipped his tea. “Doctor, you disappoint me.”

“How so?”

“Well, if you mean that you can’t get away from duty to obtain your item then you’re thinking much too linearly.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Julian!” Garak scolded. “Don’t you know the old maxim? It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission!”

It was on the tip of my tongue to demur. But then I remembered Sisko’s attitude and my annoyance resurfaced. I drew a deep breath. “I am familiar with it. I’m assuming I’ll need a ship?”

“You assume correctly.” Garak beamed. “I just happen to have one.”

I parted my lips to speak but Garak waved me to silence. “Best not to ask, then I won’t have to lie.” He stood up. “Shall we?”

“You’re not coming with me.”

“ _You’re_ not going without me. I will brook no arguments, Doctor. It's my ship after all.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding your man is one thing, convincing him that your intentions are pure is quite another, especially when 'your man' can read you like a book.

**Tom**

You know that old adage about lightning not striking the same place twice? It’s crap.

In the literal sense, I’ve navigated a plasma storm or two in my time and have experienced it firsthand. Figuratively, I’ve had enough bad luck in my life to understand that ‘lightning’ is kind of attracted to me.

I just get settled in, feeling like maybe this time, things will go right, and the universe is not out to get me, and ‘zap!’ I’m toast. It can happen just like a bolt out of the blue. It did. The night Julian Bashir walked into  _ Chez Sandrine _ .

_ Of all the gin joints in all the world… _

It happened almost exactly the same way as when Harry showed up. I was playing pool; I was comfortably tipsy, well on the way to blind drunk. A guy stepped between me and my shot. Except, this time, I knew who he was.

“Tom,” Julian said.

I scoffed. “You ‘Fleet people just don’t know when to quit.”

Bashir smiled and shook his head. “I wouldn’t know about that,” he said. “I’m not here in the capacity of a Starfleet officer. I’m here… as a friend.”

I narrowed my eyes, brushing past him to hang up my cue stick. “You’re wasting your time if you’ve come to try and talk me into going back with you. I’m not interested in anything Starfleet has to offer, and I especially don’t care to go back to prison.”

“Fine.” He followed me to the bar. “Then, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“I can buy my own drinks.” I turned to him, taking a half-step back at how close he was.

“Of course, you can.” Julian shrugged. “I’m on… unplanned leave and I intend to make the most of it. If you’d care to join me?”

“Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you need to read my file. Do you know what incorrigible means?”

Julian studied me for a long moment without speaking.

“Inveterate, Irredeemable, habitual, incurable,” I listed off the words as though reading from a thesaurus. “So whatever dewy-eyed notion you have about getting me reinstated, forget it. It’s been tried before. I didn’t last a month before I fucked up and landed myself back in New Zealand. After my last little sortie? I don’t think minimum security would satisfy the powers that be.”

Julian climbed onto a bar stool, sat back and gave a low whistle. “Bravo! Do you rehearse that speech every night before you go to sleep?”

“You need to leave.” If I’d thought Harry was annoying, Bashir was downright infuriating. Only Chakotay had ever managed to piss me off more than I was right now. I ground my teeth against the irritation. 

“I’ve read your file,” Julian murmured. “Incorrigible is just a word, Tom.” He met my eyes. “Tell me about Ensign Kim?”

“If I tell you, will you go away?”

“I can’t make any promises,” he said. “I’d really like to hear your side of the story, though.”

“All right.” So, I poured out the whole tale. Julian listened in attentive silence.

“I believed him,” I said as I concluded. “I hope he got back to his timeline.”

Julian nodded and signaled the bartender for another round of drinks. “It seems a little too preposterous to have been a lie.” He picked up the glass the bartender set in front of him. “In your place, I think I would have helped him, too.”

I studied him for a long moment. Julian was the only Starfleet officer I’d met so far who thought Harry Kim had told the truth – or at least, the only one who would admit that he believed it. I looked away, absently running a finger around the rim of my glass listening to the soft note created by friction.

“Why’re you here?” I glanced at him before lifting the glass to take a mouthful of whiskey.

He smiled. “I told you. I’m here as a friend.”

“Why?”

\---

**Julian**

Tom’s blue eyes narrowed, and he pinned me with a stare only slightly less suspicious than the look he gave me when I first walked in. His shields were up, and whilst he'd downgraded from red to yellow alert, I was still on shaky footing.

I let out a breath. “I… haven’t stopped thinking about you since you checked yourself out of the infirmary.”

“Oh, please.” He scoffed and looked away.

“I’m not spinning you a line.” I shook my head. “If I’m completely honest, I don’t really know why I’m here. Except that I didn’t want to leave things the way they ended.” I glanced around, suddenly aware that the bistro was busier than when I’d arrived. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

Again, those eyes turned to me, evaluating. I held my breath.

“I must be out of my mind.” Tom shuffled to his feet. “C’mon.”

He led me out of the bistro and along a side alley to a small door set into an alcove in the back wall. This led into an apartment. A lounge-dining area, a bedroom and a small bathroom.

“Welcome to  _ Chez Paris.”  _ He said pah-rhee with a French inflection. I looked around. It was sparsely furnished and as neat as any shipboard cabin would be. You can take the man out of the institution…

The only personal touches I noticed were a couple of books – actual paper books – on a side table and a model of an ancient tall ship. I stepped closer reading the name blazoned on the ship’s stern. “ _ Pandora.” _

“Yeah. I built that model when I was eleven. She was the ship they sent out to hunt down the  _ Bounty _ mutineers.” Tom moved to stand beside me. “Reading  _ Mutiny on the Bounty _ and a few other maritime tales is what gave me my love of the sea.” He sighed, turning away. “I wanted to join the marines. Of course, that was out of the question for anyone bearing the name  _ Paris.” _

I winced at the bitter note in his voice and turned to look at him. “I’m sorry.”

Tom shook his head dismissively. “So, you wanted to talk privately…”

“Yes.”

He sat on a small sofa, waving me to a chair. “Talk.”

I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m going to tell you something no-one apart from my family knows.” I paused and swallowed hard. I had never shared this information with anyone. Doing so now, with someone who was a relative stranger was risky. I wanted Tom to know that I can keep a secret, and felt this was the best way to prove that. After all, I’ve carried this secret… the truth about myself most of my life and never breathed a word. It’s part of why I understood and empathized with Tom’s decision to cover up what really happened on Caldik Prime.

Tom leaned back on the sofa, folded his arms across his chest in a gesture of defensive skepticism. “Go on.”

I looked into his eyes. “I’m an augment.”

He blinked. His gaze swept over me from head to toe and back. He shook his head. “There’s something you don’t hear every day.”

I lowered my gaze. “I’m not proud of it. The enhancements were performed when I was a child. My parents made the decision and I was given no say.”

“Why?”

“I was struggling in school. Mathematics was a mystery beyond my ability to fathom. I couldn't grasp even the rudiments of computer languages. When I was seven years old, my parents took me to Adigeon Prime for a series of treatments.” I closed my eyes. “At the time, I didn’t understand what was happening. All I knew was that suddenly things began to make sense. I could differentiate between a dog and a cat, I could use a computer, I could… catch up with my classmates.

“Not just catch up. I began to surpass them in everything. My teachers were delighted, my parents… were proud. I was… I  _ am _ ashamed.”

Tom leaned forward. “Ashamed? Of what? It’s not like you chose to be genetically enhanced.”

I smiled. Met his eyes for a moment and then looked away. “I was a freak, Tom. I am a freak. My classmates derided me for my smarts just as much as they’d bullied me over being ‘backward’ before.

“In high school, I was an outsider. I even had to deliberately miss a question on my finals at Starfleet Academy so that I wouldn’t graduate top of my class. And always… always, this secret overshadows everything.”

“I know how that feels.” Tom stood up. “D’you want a drink?”

“Please.”

He went to a side table and poured two measures of whiskey, handing one to me before he resumed his seat.

“Why not come clean?”

“I’m too much of a coward for that.” I shook my head. “I know you confessed about Caldik Prime. That took guts, Tom. I don’t have that kind of courage. Starfleet is all I have. If I were to tell them… You know what they think of people like me.”

Tom swallowed a mouthful of whiskey. “Don’t get any romantic notions about me. I confessed because the spirits of the crewmates I killed wouldn’t let me be until I did. Guts had nothing to do with it.”

There was silence while that bald statement hung in the air between us.

“What about your parents?” Tom asked.

“What about them?”

“It seems to me that they’re the ones who ought to be ashamed.”

“I don’t think they are. I don’t know. We haven’t seen each other or communicated in a long time.”

Tom smirked and raised his glass. “To parental estrangement,” he murmured. “Long may it reign.”

We drank to it.

After a moment, I stood up, setting my glass aside. “I should go.”

Tom got up too. “Where are you staying?”

I shrugged. “Actually, I hadn’t planned that far ahead. I suppose I’ll go back to the ship.”

Tom was instantly tense. “What ship?”

“It’s Cardassian. Brinok class. A friend of mine… borrowed it.”

“Brinok.” Tom considered for a moment. “A patrol cruiser, equipped with plasma and phaser weapons, cloaking device, and if I recall… the ability to release a cluster of drones to harry enemy ships.”

I nodded. “That’s impressive.”

“Any pilot worth his salt knows the basic configuration of most ships you’d meet in the Alpha Quadrant.”

I had a feeling he was downplaying his knowledge. Most pilots have access to the ship's databases, sensor readings and the assistance of operations and tactical personnel. I let it pass. “Thank you for hearing me out, at least.” I was disappointed that he’d failed to jump at the chance for redemption, but I also couldn’t blame him. I took a step towards the door.

“You could… stay here. If you want.”

I glanced around the tiny apartment, barely more than a studio. “Where would I sleep?”

“Well, the couch is pretty lumpy,” Tom said. “My bed can easily accommodate two.”

I studied him, unsure exactly what he was offering. Admittedly, I wouldn’t be averse to sleeping with him in the old-fashioned sense.

“I swear I’ll be the perfect gentleman.” He held his hands up in a gesture of appeasement. “Unless…”

Heat crept into my cheeks and I lowered my gaze, abashed that he’d read my hesitation for what it was, so unerringly. “I… uh.” I cleared my throat. “I’d like to stay.”

Then I was in his arms and his mouth found mine. Firm, smooth lips slid against mine with a sureness born of experience. He kissed me until I had to pull away panting for breath.

His darkened blue eyes locked with mine as he took me by the hand and led me to his bedroom.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension between Julian and Tom is heightened, but perhaps not in the best of ways.

**Julian**

I woke the next morning to the smell of fresh coffee and French pastries. Tom, already up, showered and dressed, set a tray down on the bedside and perched himself on the edge of the bed.

“Good morning, Doctor Lazybones!”

I rolled onto my back, stretching luxuriously. “Lazybones? I’ll have you know this is the first vacation I have taken in almost two years!”

Tom grinned. “I brought you breakfast. After that, I thought maybe we could take a tour of the city. That’s if you’re not worried about being caught on 'vacation.'”

“Caught?”

“My sources tell me your ‘unplanned leave’ is also unapproved.”

“Oh. Guilty as charged.” I sat up, leaning against the head of the bed. “You have sources?”

“Believe it or not, there are one or two people inside Starfleet who still  _ like _ me,” Tom snarked.

“Sorry.”

“Forget it.”

I reached for a cup of coffee and a pastry with fruit filling and white frosting. “You can count me amongst those who like you.”

“Oh, I know. You liked me an  _ awful _ lot last night.” He chuckled at the quick flush that bloomed on my cheeks.

I turned the talk to general chit-chat while I finished my breakfast. Tom left me to shower and was good enough to loan me fresh clothing to put on for our day of exploring. The fact that he’d offered to show me the sights gave me hope that he might rethink his rejection of my reason for coming to Earth.

We set out midmorning after Tom checked in with Sandrine, a lively red-haired French woman and an outrageous flirt.

“I’m surprised either of us escaped with our dignity intact,” I remarked to Tom as we walked along  _ Quai du Port. _

“Sandrine’s harmless,” Tom replied. “She just likes to play.”

“If that’s play, I dread to encounter her when she’s serious.”

Tom laughed. “I promise to protect you.”

We spent most of the morning touring the portside around  _ Chez Sandrine _ and stopped for lunch at a little Trattoria. Tom ordered pizza and red wine.

When the food arrived, we ate in companionable silence for a while. I took a sip of wine and studied him across the table. He seemed relaxed, compared to the night before. At ease in the city he so obviously loved.

“Something on your mind?” Tom eyed me across the table.

“Why did you join the Maquis?”

Tom bowed his head, a half smile touching his lips. “Mostly to piss off Admiral Paris.” He sobered. “But…”

I waited, not wanting to press too hard.

“I was angry with the admiral; I was angry with Starfleet. I wanted to hit back, and the Maquis offered me a way to do that.” He met my eyes across the table. “Then there was the mission itself. What pilot wouldn’t want to fly the badlands?”

“You were with Chakotay’s cell. What was he like?”

His expression darkened and he went quiet. The silence stretched until I had almost decided to change the subject.

“He was… angrier than me. He had a right to be. I was kicked out of Starfleet over my own stupid decisions. His planet… his  _ home  _ was being parceled off to his sworn enemies and no-one gave two strips how the inhabitants felt about it.”

“Did you like him?”

Blue eyes flicked to mine for an instant. “I didn’t have to  _ like _ him, I just had to follow orders.” He stood up, scanned a small chip against the terminal on our table to pay the bill. “I prefer not to discuss him.”

With that, Tom turned on his heel and walked out leaving me frowning in his wake.

* * *

**Tom**

He had to go there. He had to try and dig up the memories of my brief career as a Maquis rebel. 

I wish I had never met Chakotay or set foot on his damned ship. I wish I could take that whole messed up two months of my life back.

But I can’t. Instead, I keep it buried and I don’t think about it. I don’t talk about it. I pretend it never happened.

“Tom!” Julian caught me up as I stormed out onto the street. “Wait, please. I’m sorry.”

I drew a deep breath and turned to look at him.

“I didn’t realize that subject was a sore point. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“You couldn’t have known.” I walked on at an easier pace, letting him fall in beside me. “My short and less than brilliant career with the Maquis is something I try hard to forget.”

“Noted.” The back of Julian’s hand brushed against my knuckles and I took hold of it.

“There’s a museum not far from here. Feel like taking in some history?”

“I’d love to.” He smiled.

We spent the remainder of the afternoon exploring  _ Musée d’Histoire de Marseille  _ and arrived back at my apartment in time for a light dinner.

Julian had been pensive since my abrupt departure from the table at lunch. I felt bad for snarling at him and storming out. After dinner I challenged him to a friendly game of pool in the bar. I was supposed to be working anyway, and it seemed like a good way to lighten the mood.

“Just to make it a little more interesting, I wager a strip of latinum that I’ll win,” I said as I placed balls into the rack.

Julian chuckled. “Prepare to be one strip richer at the end of the game. Darts are my forte." He set a strip of latinum on the rail. He won the toss and got to break.

I signalled the bartender to set us up with drinks and the game began.

* * *

**Julian**

Tom either threw the game, I played pool better than I thought, or I had a severe case of beginner’s luck. Since Tom says he didn’t give me any breaks (pun intended), I must go with the beginner’s luck theory because I am much better at poker or darts than I am at pool.

Whichever way it happened; I won the game. Tom ceded with good grace and we returned to his apartment.

I was preoccupied with Tom’s strong reaction to my questions about the Maquis. There was obviously some painful history there, and I had to bite my tongue to restrain my surgeon’s instinct to lance the abscess. If he didn’t want to talk about it, pushing for details would only annoy him, and I didn’t want to jeopardize the frail trust between us.

“Do you want a drink?” Tom asked when we walked into his apartment.

“No, thank you.” Tom drank three glasses of wine at lunch and sipped often from a hip flask he carried in a pocket as we toured the city. During our pool game he’d downed at least three small glasses of whiskey and now he poured himself a double. This time the doctor in me wouldn’t be silenced.

“Do you drink like this regularly?”

He turned to me; eyes narrowed. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“While you don’t answer many.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “I don’t owe you anything. I’m not Starfleet, I’m not a pilot. I’m exactly what Harry Kim said I was. A drunk and a bum.” He shrugged. “So, what if I do drink a lot? It’s not like I have anything else to do.”

“By choice.”

He lifted his chin at the note of challenge in my voice. “Is that so?”

“I think it is. I came here offering you a chance to go back to doing what you love. Flying. You won’t even consider it.”

“I didn’t say I won’t consider flying. I  _ said _ I’m not interested in flying for Starfleet.”

“I think you’re afraid.”

“Fuck you.” Tom set his empty glass down hard on a side table.

“I think you’re afraid to face your past, I think you’re afraid to face your father and I think you’re afraid to…”

He moved so quickly that I barely saw the fist coming before it connected with my jaw. I reeled backwards and sprawled on the floor. My head smacked against something solid and my vision greyed out.

* * *

**Tom**

“Julian!” I dropped to my knees beside him staring in horror at his pallid features. _Oh shit!_ _ I’ve killed him… _

_ “ _ I’m sorry! _ ” _

I closed my eyes forcing myself to breathe, pulling the panic back under control. I have field medical training. It’s mandatory for pilots. With a trembling hand, I checked for a pulse; finding it, steady and strong. I got up and rushed to the bathroom to get the emergency medkit I kept there.

Julian was groaning and rolling his head from side to side when I got back to him. I put a hand on his shoulder. “Keep still,” I said as I fumbled a medical tricorder out of the kit and scanned his head.

No major damage, a mild concussion and a hematoma which could be repaired easily.

Julian opened his eyes. “You  _ hit  _ me!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ugh! My head.”

“You hit your head on the floor.” I took a hypospray from the kit and loaded it with an analgesic. “Here, this will help.”

Julian let out a sigh of relief when I administered the medication. “Thanks.” He struggled to sit up and I supported him, rather than insist he stay still.

“Fuck. Julian… I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorrier,” he muttered. He took the tricorder from me, studying the readout. He lifted a hand to press and prod at the back of his skull.

“You have a hematoma,” I said. “I'll treat it.”

“I’ll do it myself.” He shot me a wary look.

I nodded, handing over the regenerator. While Julian did his best to heal the area on the back of his skull, I got up, pacing the floor. I hadn’t always been so quick to anger. It started after Caldik Prime. What with lack of sleep, too much booze, and a guilty conscience, plagued by flashbacks, dreams and visions of charred dead crewmates dancing in my head. Was it any wonder I got a little short with people?

“Could you help me?”

I turned to him. He still sat on the floor. Holding out the regenerator, he smiled ruefully. “I can’t quite reach to finish the treatment.”

I took the instrument and grabbed his hand, pulling him up. “Sit on the sofa, it’ll be easier on us both.” I guided him to a seat and positioned myself next to him running the sonic vibrations over the remaining swelling.

“Do you solve all of your problems with your fists?”

I winced. “It’s become more common, lately,” I said, recalling taking a swing at Harry the first time we met. Then there was the barfight on Deep Space Nine that landed me back in prison and saw  _ Voyager  _ cruise off into the unknown without me. “In the Maquis, and in prison, life is governed by different rules. You learn to strike first, I guess.”

Julian rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Well, you certainly have a mean right hook.”

My chuckle at his attempted humor didn't come out quite right.

“All done,” I said. I got up to put the regenerator back in the medkit. Julian caught hold of my wrist.

“Tom, wait.” He pulled me down beside him. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But I do. I said some nasty things. I goaded you until you snapped. I’m at least partly responsible.”

I bowed my head. “I still shouldn’t have hit you. I could have seriously injured you.”

“Perhaps.” Julian frowned, looking into my eyes. “I do think you have a problem with alcohol,” he said.

I couldn’t deny it. Barely a day went by when I didn’t crave a drink. A craving I'd done my best to ignore on board the  _ Phoenix,  _ but the past few weeks had revived memories I'd rather numb than face up to.

“Let me help you.” Julian smiled. “We’ll call it reparation and I won’t report you for assaulting me.”

I closed my eyes, swallowed hard. After a long moment, I nodded. “Okay.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Tom**

Julian shivered and gave a soft groan of pleasure as I ran my tongue over the plane of his belly and lower. I breathed the musky scent of his skin, warm and clean from the sonic shower and nuzzled into the coarse dark hair at his groin. Pressing my lips into the hollow between his hip and lower abdomen I purred, then nuzzled my way to his cock and took it into my mouth.

“Oh God! Tom!” Fingers curled into my hair tugging just hard enough to hurt and I growled, sucking him deeper.

“Fuck!”

Oh, now that was hot! Julian was so strait-laced, that to elicit that kind of filthy language from him, made me want to hear more.

I set to work and soon had him squirming and begging for release. Reveling in the sense of control and power, I kept him teetering on the brink for long minutes before finally adding a hand to the attention of my mouth, jacking him as I sucked on the head of his cock and pushed him over into orgasm.

He subsided on the bed, boneless, panting, making inarticulate little murmurs as I crawled up along his body to kiss his lips.

“Tom, that was…”

I smirked and moved to lie beside him. “You’re welcome.”

“You are insufferably smug!” He chuckled rolling to his side to pull me into another kiss.

“When you’ve got it, flaunt it,” I said when he let me up for air, earning a swat to my bare behind. I yelped in mock pain and rubbed the spot. “So, tomorrow morning you plan to drag me back to Deep Space Nine,” I said. “I hope you’ll visit me on Elba II.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that, but if you do end up in maximum security I won’t be at all surprised if I am sent down along with you. Do you need to settle up with Sandrine?”

“Sandrine knows that I come and go. I'll say goodbye, if that's what you mean. She'll probably be glad--”

Julian was quick to cut me off. “You sell yourself short, Tom.”

“I mean... she's always wanted me to go back to Starfleet.” 'You are like a bird with his wings clipped, Thomas. You don't belong here. You should be on the wing, free and flying.'”

“Well I’ve read your records and you are an excellent pilot, so she is right,” Julian said.

I frowned. “I was a good pilot. Caldik Prime changed that. I'm good enough for a freighter. I don't know about Starships.

“You are still a good pilot. Your scores at the academy were exemplary.”

“I almost got Chakotay's ship destroyed in the badlands.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I pressed my lips together.

“The badlands are a challenge for the best pilots, Tom. I take it that the Maquis were not happy about nearly losing a ship, and wanted to blame the fact that they were there in the first place on their pilot?”

“No. It wasn't like that. It was Chakotay's decision to go into the badlands. It made sense. Starfleet vessels don't maneuver well in plasma storms. The Val Jean was small, fast. She had a feel about her, like... I don't know. Running my hands over the controls felt like silk.

“B'Elanna Torres kept that ship in great order. Her engines were optimal. She was a dream to fly.”

**Julian**

Watching Tom’s face as he spoke about flying the Maquis vessel, I marveled. He came alive. Like a man in love, or like Miles O'Brien when he talks about Keiko and Molly. Tom’s careful avoidance of Chakotay’s name was noticeable. I took a breath, venturing to ask. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Tom closed his eyes for a moment, before he spoke in a low undertone.

“Chakotay reckoned without Gul Evek.

“Starfleet vessels, at least until Voyager was commissioned, weren't agile enough to navigate the badlands. But Cardassian ships...”

“They went in after you?”

Tom let out a breath. “Evek was relentless. It was a constant game of cat and mouse. Exhausting. Chakotay was on my back non-stop as well.

“I don't know what he expected, when he came to France to 'recruit' me to his cell. Whatever it was, I didn't measure up.” Tom sat up, glancing around the room. He pushed a hand through his hair, obviously conflicted.

“Tom if you feel you can’t talk about it... I won’t pressure you.”

**Tom**

I got out of bed, snagging my shorts from the floor and pulling them on. The events of that last chase in the badlands replayed in my head in living color.

* * *

_“Paris!” Chakotay snapped from his command chair as the ship shuddered under weapons fire._

_“I know, sir! I'm trying...We're losing the impulse engines. Another hit like that and...” A shuddering impact nearly threw me from my seat._

_Torres came over the coms. “Chakotay, what the hell is going on up there? I just lost power to the...” Her words were lost under the sound of frying relays. The ship skewed out of my control as the engines whined with the stress of trying to stay on course._

_“I'm switching to Evasive pattern Gamma 3,” I yelled above the mayhem. “Hold on!”_

_“The Cardassians are hailing us, Captain,” Ayala said._

_“Paris! Get us out of this or so help me...” I was barely aware of Chakotay’s half-expressed threat as I fought the helm._

_“That's not weapons fire, Captain. It's...” Ayala shouted from the tactical console._

* * *

“Fuck... I was just...so tired. I...”

Julian caught hold of my arm. “Tom you need to sit down.” He guided me to sit on the bed. “You’re as white as milk.”

“I let the ship get too close to a plasma storm,” I whispered. “It was Caldik Prime all over again.”

**Julian**

“Tom reading between the lines you were all running on empty and you were fighting for your life.” I gripped his wrist, feeling his pulse beat against my fingers fast and heavy. His pallor worried me, reminding me that he had not long recovered from a critical head trauma.

Tom raised bleak eyes. “I nearly got us all killed.”

“Tom listen to me. You were flying for the first time in the badlands. You were exhausted.”

“I knew that. Everyone knew that. Everyone said it was not my fault. Everyone except Chakotay.”

“And why was his opinion so important to you when the others were not?”

“He was the captain. He was the man who'd thought I was worth a second chance.”

“You were, and you are Tom.”

**Tom**

I averted my eyes from the earnest expression on Julian’s face, my thoughts going back to the scene in Chakotay’s ready room after the near disaster.

* * *

_“I took a risk with you, Paris. I'd heard about your glorious career at Starfleet Academy. The hotshot pilot that everyone said would make captain before he turned 40.” He scoffed. “What was it? Booze? Women? Were you drunk when you flew that mission on Caldik Prime?”_

_“No, Captain.” I stood at attention, hands at my sides, head high, eyes front. Something about my stance seemed to annoy him. He growled and turned away._

_“So, it was negligence?”_

_I swallowed, kept my eyes fixed on the middle distance. Saying nothing. Inwardly, I seethed under his bullying tactics. Chakotay knew nothing about me, or my crewmates. I doubt he’d ever even bothered to read my statement to the court martial. He reminded me of some of the Starfleet officers I’d encountered after I was discharged. Only interested in what they heard on the gossip mill._

_“Incompetence. Was that it, Paris? You falsified the sensor logs after the crash. Did you doctor your academic records too? Or were you given those passes based on your name rather than your skill?”_

_I didn’t deign to answer that. He wasn’t the first person to suggest I graduated on my father’s coat tails, and he won’t be the last. “It was a mistake, Captain.”_

_“Like the one I made in recruiting you. Whatever you were at the academy, you're not fit to fly a garbage scow now.”_

* * *

I took a breath, coming back to the present, and looked into Julian’s eyes.

“He banned me from touching the helm again, told me they'd set me down on the first planet they found.”

“Tom I’m sorry.” Julian squeezed my wrist.

“I tell people I was captured on my first mission with the Maquis. That's not exactly true. I hacked the comms that night and hailed Gul Evek's ship. Torres helped me to steal an escape pod. I handed myself in.

“It was a relief, really. Chakotay couldn't stand the sight of me and I never really fit in with the rest of the crew.”

“Did you ever consider that perhaps Chakotay disliked you because of what you are, Tom? You're Starfleet, through and through. As much as you try to deny it. You're a product of the environment you grew up in. You would have been a daily reminder to him of all that he stood against. A reminder of the people he was fighting. Of the struggle to protect his home. I'm not defending him. The way he treated you was wrong.

“Starfleet is the sworn enemy of the Maquis...with good reason. You just happened to be in easy reach for him to vent his anger upon.”

“If he felt like that then why the hell hire me?”

“Because you could do what he wanted you to do, Tom.” Julian smiled. “If he'd given you the space to do it. He probably wasn't aware of just how deeply ingrained in you Starfleet is, until it was too late.”

“You just can’t help insulting me can you doctor? You really need to put some work into that just-finished-fucking, bedside charm.”

Julian laughed. “I'm sorry that you don't like it. It's the truth though. You even still cut your hair to regulations.”

“This is just the way it grows, and it didn’t bother you that it was reg length when you were tugging on it earlier.”

Julian chuckled and patted my shoulder. “If you insist. Perhaps we should get some sleep. Garak's expecting us bright and early tomorrow.”

“Oh, so you insult me then you just want to sleep. Man, I can really pick them.” I shook my head climbing into bed. “Does this Cardassian friend of yours know about me?” I stared into the darkness. “I don’t want to be palmed off to some small-dicked Starfleet bounty hunter, Julian.”

“Garak? He's not about to sell you out, and neither am I.”

“Truth is I don’t even know why I’m going back with you.”

Julian turned on his side and put a hand on my chest: “You're taking a leap of faith. I know it can't be easy for you.”

“I haven’t trusted anyone since my mother died.”

“Then I'm honored that you've chosen to trust me.”

I turned to look at him in the darkness. ”Who is this Garak, anyway?”

“He’s a former member of the Obsidian Order. One whom your old friend Gul Evek would very much like to see dead. He runs a tailoring business on Deep Space Nine.”

I huffed a breath. “He and I could form a club,” I said. “The Alpha Quadrant's most wanted.”

Julian hitched closer. “Go to sleep,” he said.

I took hold of his hand where it lay on my chest and pressed his knuckles to my lips. “Yeah…G’night, Doc.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom opens up about what _really_ happened to him in Chakotay's Maquis Cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning:** mentions of Non Consensual sex. Violence.

**Tom**

After bidding goodbye to Sandrine, who pouted about _le beau docteur_ stealing me from her, Julian and I beamed aboard the Cardassian cruiser, _Kentar_ _[i]_ _,_ where I met Julian’s friend, Elim Garak. He is possibly the most garrulous Cardassian I’ve ever met. I don’t think he stopped talking for a full twenty minutes after our arrival on board.

I’d like to say that the journey to Deep Space Nine, back to Starfleet; back to life, was smooth and uneventful. As far as the flying goes, it was. A cloaked vessel seldom meets with problems.

As for me? I was edgy and irritable the first few days. Then I started to feel a crawling sensation all over my skin. I felt as though my body was infested with some kind of ants or fleas. It drove me insane. Added to that my hands trembled, and my head pounded constantly.

“I just need one drink!” I snarled at Julian over dinner on our fifth night of travel. “I’d even settle for Synthehol!”

“I can’t allow it, Tom.” Julian met my eyes across the table. “Even Synthehol would set back your recovery. I can give you more Improvaline after dinner to help with the agitation and the paresthesia.”

I got up from the table, leaving my barely touched meal behind. “Forget it,” I snapped. “I’ll cope.”

Storming out of Julian’s cabin, I stalked along a corridor with no real idea of where I was headed. Irritation propelled me. 

The smallness of the _Kentar_ reminded me of the _Val Jean_ and that summoned memories of the first time I’d gone through detox. That had been worse. Way worse. That time, it wasn’t just booze. Melorazine had been my weapon of choice against the specters in the night back then. Coming off it had been ten kinds of hell.

There was no Julian Bashir to guide my recovery. No medication, no gentle concern. Nothing but disdain from Captain Chakotay and indifference from my Maquis crewmates.

My steps slowed as the weight of my ingratitude caught up with me.

I stopped in the middle of the corridor and rubbed a hand across my face. Pushed my fingers through my hair. _Get a grip, Paris!_

Those words rang in my mind in a familiar voice, not my own.

* * *

 _“Get a grip, Paris!”_ _Chakotay shook me, pulling me out of the grip of a nightmare._

_“Take your hands off me!” I rolled away from him, my head spinning with the sudden awakening and my own movement. Nausea swept through me, and I groaned, barely making it to the side of the bed before I puked._

_“Shit!” Chakotay hissed, stepping back from the bed._

_“I’m…sor-ry,” I rasped. Bile scorched my throat and flooded my vision with tears._

_“When was the last time you ate?”_

_“Not hungry.”_

_Chakotay huffed a breath. “Get up, get cleaned up and report to me in the mess hall in 15 minutes.” He turned on his heel and left._

* * *

“Tom?”

I startled, coming back from the past to find Julian at my side.

“Are you all right?”

I met his concerned gaze, such a sharp contrast to the grudging care that Chakotay had shown and nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry for snarling at you. And for walking out. I just…”

“You just need a drink,” he murmured. The weary resignation in his voice stung.

“True. I wish I could have one,” I said. “That doesn’t mean I have to be an asshole.”

A hint of a smile touched his lips. “You should come back and finish your dinner,” he said. “You’ll feel better for it.”

He was right. As much as I’d resented Chakotay forcing me to eat regular meals, back on the _Val Jean_ it did help. I had more energy, and establishing routines diverted my thoughts from using. I nodded, falling in step with Julian as he headed back towards his cabin.

**Julian**

****

After Tom stormed out, I remained sitting at the table for a few moments gathering my thoughts. I’d known that Tom was drinking heavily but hadn’t guessed at the extent of his dependency on alcohol. He exhibited all the signs of alcoholic withdrawal and the _Kentar_ had only limited facilities for treating him. I’d relied on what few medications were available up till now, and restricted Tom’s replicator access to non-alcoholic beverages and foods. His abrupt mood swings were concerning.

The doctor in me wouldn’t allow me to not go after him. Besides which, my personal feelings drove me to my feet and out into the corridors in search of him. He hadn’t gone far. I found him standing shaken and pale within a hundred meters of my cabin. He had that introspective distant gaze and didn’t respond the first time I said his name. I assumed he was having flashbacks to his time in the Maquis, or any one of the torments of his past. I sighed and called his name again.

He startled and his eyes regained focus as he turned to me. I saw the quick flash of remorse in their depths a moment before he apologized for taking off.

I persuaded him to come back to his abandoned dinner.

Back in my cabin, I relented and replicated a glass of Synthehol wine to accompany his meal. I ordered Raktajino for myself.

“Wine?” He looked up at me as I set the glass before him.

“Just this once,” I said.

“Thanks.” He picked up his fork and took a mouthful of salad.

“You know, talking about the things that haunt you might aid in the recovery process.”

He chewed in silence, studying me with narrowed eyes. I waited.

Tom is very good at the waiting game. He continued with his dinner, munching salad, sipping his wine and ignoring my expectant silence until he had finished. Laying down his fork, he pushed the plate aside and lifted his glass in a toast before draining the last sip of wine.

I trained in the skill of ‘listening silence’ at Starfleet medical, but Tom put all my discipline to the test.

Setting his empty glass on the table, he leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his body. A defensive posture I’d come to know well.

“I told you that Chakotay was always on my back while we were playing hide and seek with Gul Evek,” he said. He lowered his eyes, studying the table-top for another tense period of silence.

“Tom, whatever you have to tell me, I assure you will stay strictly between us. Both as your doctor and your…” I paused, unsure exactly how to label our relationship.

“Friend,” he supplied.

I nodded. “Your friend.”

I drew a breath. Sometimes, wounds need to be pressed in order to release the poison. “Tom, did Chakotay hurt you physically?”

His eyes snapped open and his head came up, pinning me with a tormented gaze that chilled my blood.

**Tom**

So, there it was, the question I knew he’d ask me eventually.

The Maquis give a lot of lip service to noble ideals. Protecting their homes, fighting for their rights, defending their families – all of that, to an extent, is true. They have a cause and they pursue it with fervor. Like most rebels, though, they’re not trained military personnel. Many of them are former farmers; landowners, colonists and they fight dirty. There’s a thread of lawlessness running under the surface. If they ascribe to any rule, it’s the oldest one. The fittest survive, the less fit endure and the weak? Well… let’s just say, you don’t want to be weak. Not in the Maquis, and especially not in Chakotay’s cell.

“I was soft.” I breathed out the words and Julian leaned forward to catch them. “Starfleet through and through, you said once. That’s true. I didn’t have the first clue of what I was getting myself into when I signed on with them.” I drew a long unsteady breath. Maybe Julian was right. If I told someone what really went on between Chakotay and me, maybe it would be the same as when I confessed to killing Charlie, Caroline and Samuel. I could clear the slate and find some peace of mind.

I kept my gaze lowered. Took another long breath and let the words out.

“He raped me.”

Silence.

**Julian**

As much as I had suspected it. The bald statement of the fact momentarily floored me. My heart plummeted with the weight of brokenness in Tom’s voice. I searched for words, watching as he closed his eyes. I saw him swallow hard. With nothing to say, I reached out, putting my hand on top of his where it rested on the table.

He didn’t stir or open his eyes. After a moment, that soft, broken voice went on.

“The first time, it was rape. Afterwards, I… I don’t know what it was. I didn’t _want_ to be with him, but… It made life easier if I was.”

Dear gods. How could he not understand? How could Tom believe for a moment that such a coercive situation wasn’t just the same as if Chakotay pinned him down and forced him every time?

“Tom.” I squeezed his hand, urging him to look at me. “If you didn’t want to be there, then there’s no question.”

“Even…” He lifted his head, met my eyes, his lashes sparkling with unshed tears. “Even if I enjoyed it?”

I shook my head. “Tom feeling pleasure or arousal when you’re doing something against your will doesn’t signify consent. You were hardly in a position to refuse.”

Tom pulled his hand away from my touch. Pushing his chair back from the table, he hunched forward and buried his face in his hands.

As much as I wanted to touch him, to comfort him, I respected the distance he’d put between us.

“I always thought because I chose to go to his cabin, because I let him… that…”

“You did what you had to do to survive.”

He went quiet for a long time, and I sat with him while he processed.

Eventually, he heaved a long, deep breath and sat back in his chair. He passed a hand over his face, swiping at the tracks of tears.

“Upside,” he said. “I knew what to look out for in prison, and no one ever used me that way again.”

Gallows humor if I’d ever heard it, but I took it as a positive sign. I let a smile barely touch my lips. “Thank you. For telling me,” I said.

He met and held my gaze for a long moment. Then, he nodded.

“Thanks for listening.”

* * *

 **[i]** **_Kentar_** **was a Gul in the Cardassian Military during** ** _Star Trek Armada II.(source: Reddit)_**


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian arrives back on DS9 with Tom and Garack and has to 'face the music' for his desertion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been following this story from the outset, you may want to go back and double check that you have read chapters 8-9 as there are some changes. My beta reader has been sick and I am flying solo with this atm whist also in the process of moving to a new apartment, so mistakes can and have happened.

**Julian**

Tom didn’t mention Chakotay again for the rest of our journey to Deep Space Nine, and I didn’t push him. I was not naïve enough to believe he’d resolved what happened. His healing would take time, and probably more counselling than I’m qualified to give him. His mood was lighter though, and he seemed almost to look forward to our arrival in the Bajor sector. His cravings for alcohol were milder and the mood swings decreased.

I decided to step out of the doctor role for the time being and related to him as a friend. One with certain benefits, mind you, but a friend, nonetheless.

As we got nearer to ‘home,’ I began to ponder what my reception would be like with Captain Sisko. I had every reason to expect disciplinary action. The captain had stated as much in personal communiques via subspace relay. I was impressed at how, even in text, Benjamin could inject his words with that firm ‘give-me-one-good-reason-not-to-tear-your-head-off’ inflection. I was for it. No doubt about that!

I didn’t reply to his messages. I wasn’t the least bit remorseful, and anything less than my physical presence on the station wouldn’t appease him anyway.

**Tom**

Julian had beamed over to Deep Space Nine about four hours ago, leaving Garak and I onboard the  _ Kentar. _

“I think it’s best you stay here, Tom,” he told me before he left. “You’ve a better chance of getting away should things go awry.”

It was the first time I’d heard him express doubts about his plan aloud. I know he’s had them. Julian might think he has a good poker face, but I can see right through him. He’s been less sure of Captain Sisko the closer we got to Deep Space Nine.

I paced the small bridge, half inclined to tell Garak to high-tail it back to earth, or through the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant, anywhere to get away from the looming possibility of being arrested and sent back to prison.

“You need to relax.” The Cardassian said, turning from his place at the helm. “For one thing, the ship is completely undetectable while we remain cloaked. For another, if anyone can talk Captain Sisko around, it is Julian Bashir.”

I turned to him. “You don’t know how badly Starfleet would like to get their hands on me,” I said. “I stole a prototype ship which was leaps and bounds ahead of anything the Federation possesses. I got it destroyed in the process.”

“I’m sure they still had the blueprints,” Garak smiled. “They can build another.”

“That’s not the point.” I let out a breath. “I’m going to my cabin.” I left the bridge wishing that I could at least have a drink to help pass however much freedom was left to me.

This whole thing was a bad idea. I must’ve been nuts to agree to it. Or maybe Julian drugged me. Maybe, my brain simply didn’t function as well without alcohol as it should. Why did I ever agree to come back?

**Julian**

Captain Sisko met me in the transporter room personally. I was relieved to see he hadn’t brought Constable Odo along, but the look on his face told me I needn’t discount the possibility that the changeling would become involved. I drew a breath, snapped to attention and met his eyes. “Doctor Julian Bashir, reporting for duty, sir.” I didn’t intend to be insolent, but it sounded that way, even to me.

Sisko scowled. “My office,” he said. He turned on his heel and walked ahead of me without another glance.

In his ready room, he took a seat behind his desk. He didn’t invite me to sit, and I remained on my feet, hands clasped at the small of my back, head high.

“Care to explain where you were?”

Something told me he already knew, but I obliged him. “Yessir. I was on Earth. In France.”

He steepled his fingers, kept his gaze steady on my face. “Why?”

“A critical care patient of mine discharged himself from the infirmary against medical advice. I felt I owed him a duty of care. I followed him.”

“And it never occurred to you to ask for leave to … pursue your duty of care, Doctor?”

“Given the circumstances and our discussion a day prior, I doubted it would be granted, Captain.”

Sisko leaned back in his chair, regarding me with a thoughtful expression. “Why was it so important that  _ you _ go after this person? There are doctors on Earth. There’s a Starfleet medical facility in the city of Marseilles.”

I hadn’t mentioned Marseilles. My suspicion proven; I tipped my head to one side.

“My patient has… an aversion to Starfleet medical.”

“Indeed.” Sisko let out a breath. “I suppose I needn’t continue to wonder why our resident tailor went missing at the same time. I hope he realizes he has jeopardized his tenure here.”

“I take full responsibility, Captain. I attempted to dissuade Garak from accompanying me.”

The captain scoffed. “Sooner dissuade a Ferengi from stealing,” he muttered. He looked into my eyes. “You know there are heavy penalties for aiding and abetting the Maquis,” he said. “ _ Or _ giving aid to wanted criminals.”

My heart stopped for what felt like a minute. I felt the blood drain from my cheeks. “Someone has done their due diligence.”

“You left a trail behind you as obvious as plasma from a damaged nacelle, Doctor!”

I lowered my gaze, passed my tongue across suddenly dry lips.

“Where is Tom Paris?”

I remained silent.

“I asked you a direct question. If you prefer not to answer it, you can speak with Constable Odo, from a cell in the brig.”

“He’s nearby.” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “He… That is, I persuaded him to come back with me, to state his case to you.” If Tom had an ounce of sense, he would have told Garak to get him the hell away from Deep Space Nine, or anyone on it. For the first time, I began to worry that I’d led him right into the  exact situation he'd  worked to avoid since the destruction of the  _ Yellowstone. _

“What possible case could Mr Paris have to plead with me?”

I breathed a sigh. “Sir. I hve always admired your ability to keep an open mind and to give people a fair hearing. I don’t think that Ensign Kim or Tom Paris received such an opportunity. Starfleet command had already made up their minds to discount Ensign Kim’s story. Whether that was due to his inexperience, or some other bias, I can’t say, but I  _ will _ say that whatever prejudice they held against him, it was magnified out of all proportion as soon as Tom got involved. Ensign Kim is no longer here to give an account. Tom is, and I believe he deserves a hearing.”

“Do you?” Sisko eyed me for a long moment.

I held his gaze, unflinching, silently willing him to give Tom a chance.

Finally, Sisko leaned forward, his eyes locked with mine. “Tom Paris will be under security escort from the moment he sets foot aboard this station. I will not confine him to the brig…” He held up a hand when I started to speak. “Yet. However, Doctor, Mr Paris is here under your recognizance and I  _ will _ hold you directly responsible should he do  _ anything _ to compromise this station or anyone aboard. Am I understood?”

“Perfectly.” I started to stand up.

“We are not done, Doctor,” Sisko said. “I will decide what form of discipline suits your blatant disregard for protocol. You deserted your post without leave, you failed to respond to repeated attempts to contact you and you have flown very close to the flame in associating with a man whose past actions do nothing to inspire my confidence in him.” He glared at me for a moment longer then shook his head. “Dismissed. I will send a security detail to the docking ring. You had better advise Paris of the terms of his admission here.”

“Captain.” I stood at attention for a moment, then turned and walked out of the ready room.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos (especially comments) ;) are welcome!


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